


i mean, it could be worse

by cherrykirsch



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji & Kozume Kenma Friendship, Akaashi and Kiyoko Are Apocalypse Supermodels, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Badass, Badass Zombie Killing, Body Horror, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou are Bros, Emotional Baggage, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Kenma is a Greasy Apocalypse Goblin, Kuroo Has a Quip For Everything, M/M, Optimus Prime Is Mentioned In Reference To Not Fucking Cars (And Bumblebee Too), Road Trips, Sarcasm, Threats of Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombieland AU, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:32:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrykirsch/pseuds/cherrykirsch
Summary: Step One. Don't die.Step Two. Profit.Bokuto and Kuroo navigate the messy world of the zombie apocalypse. With both major and minor setbacks, a couple guns, and people who just won't leave them alone.





	i mean, it could be worse

**Author's Note:**

> I'm absolutely in love with the idea of an apocalypse setting, especially the more light hearted ones. So here, take his happiness before I post the sad, heartbreaking Zombie Apocalypse AU as well.

To Kuroo, driving the one-thousand-and-twenty-nine miles from Salt Lake City, Utah to Wichita, Kansas with Bokuto Koutarou in the passenger seat could be more accurately described as the road trip from hell – and not just because of the zombies. 

“I mean,” Bokuto said to Kuroo as he kicked his feet up on the dashboard, chewing idly on an out-of-date stick of banana Laffy Taffy; which is, in Kuroo’s opinion, worse than having his dirty shoes on the dashboard of his dusty but otherwise clean jeep. “It could be worse.” 

Kuroo scoffed and pushed Bokuto’s feet off his dash. “How could anything be worse than flesh-eating monsters?” He asked, swerving to the right to narrowly avoid hitting an overturned Porsche.

“I dunno,” Bokuto shrugged, shoving the rest of the candy in his mouth and balling the wrapper up to throw into the backseat. “Nuclear fallout could be worse. Then we’d all be disfigured and coughing up blood, having to interbreed just so they human race could stay alive.” 

Kuroo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, raising an eyebrow at Bokuto. “Man, ‘ _Disfigured and coughing up blood_ ’ is starting to sound a lot like zombies.” He pointed out as he squinted at the road, trying to navigate the jeep through the roadblock of overturned and destroyed cars. “And gross, why did you bring up interbreeding?” 

“It’s a worst-case scenario,” Bokuto defended, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying if the world goes to shit—” 

“The world has already gone to shit.” Kuroo said with a smirk. “Gotta make the most of it. To be perfectly honest, I’d welcome a nuclear apocalypse right about now. Too bad the government is hiding away like pansies while the real survivors are out there kicking zombie ass.” 

Bokuto chuckled, holding his hand up for a high-five that Kuroo quickly returned before he rolled down the windows and stuck his feet out. “I say we clear out the White House and become the presidents of our broken nation,” Bokuto suggested. “Imagine it. We can wear all the fancy suits the President left there, sit in the Oval Office, give the middle finger to anyone who said we’d never amount to anything on national television.”

“Us as the presidents?” Kuroo repeated with a laugh. “Man, the world wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Bokuto nodded. “Precisely,” he said, throwing his hands behind his head. “As you so eloquently put it; the world has already gone to shit. Having us the supreme overlords of the United States wouldn’t change anything very much.”

“Supreme overlords?” Kuroo asked. “I thought we were just going to be the presidents; not entering the entire world into a dictatorship.”

Bokuto turned to Kuroo with an eyebrow raised, lifting a hand to brush his hair from his face. “After Donald Trump? Our dictatorship won’t dare compare to that shit-storm.”

Kuroo chuckled then, shaking his head. “Guess I can’t argue with that one.” He said as he turned into the parking lot of a Safeway, pulling across two parking spaces diagonally to park next to a rather crude image of male genitals spray-painted onto the side of a dusty delivery van. Kuroo looked at it sadly. “Even in the apocalypse guys over-exaggerate their dick size. I mean, really, Kou. Who has balls that size?”

Bokuto just cackled and kicked open the door of the jeep, striding over to the delivery van. “Just because you don’t have a dick and balls that size doesn’t mean you should discriminate on those who do, Tetsu.” 

Kuroo rolled his eyes and climbed out of the jeep, pulling his backpack over his shoulder and grabbing his gun from the open window of the backseat. “Because you obviously have dick and balls that size; I’m calling bullshit.” He grabbed Bokuto’s baseball bat from the back and threw it over the top of the jeep for him to catch. “Come on, I want some soda.”

“I want mini-pancakes,” Bokuto said with a smile. “I fucking love mini-pancakes.”

Kuroo nudged his shoulder as he rounded the car to cross the expanse of the parking lot. “Dream smaller, I haven’t seen mini-pancakes in five months.”

Bokuto pressed his hand over his heart in mock-hurt. “Jesus, Tetsu, give a man some hope.” He said dramatically as they reached the sliding-glass doors of the Safeway. “Let me have my mini-pancakes.”

“Not fucking likely,” Kuroo grinned, holding his gun up as they both stepped over the threshold, weapons raised. “Wanna do the honours Kou?” He asked, turning to Bokuto with a smile.

Bokuto just grinned right back and raised his bat. “Thought you’d never ask.” He said before swung around and shattered the glass of the door in one fell swoop.

The air grew heavy with silence as the glass shards tinkled to the floor and Kuroo looked around, feline eyes scanning the aisles of the supermarket for any sign of life; It was then that four zombies came barrelling towards them from the refrigerated aisles, and they immediately jumped into action. Bokuto delivered a swift swing to the back of a zombie skull, kicking it in the back of the knees and stomping on the back of its head once it collapsed on the floor, and did the same to the second; Kuroo shot out the knee caps on the zombie charging to claw at his face, kicking the back of its skull until it caved in beneath his boots, elbowing the second in the face when it tried to bite through his denim jacket before he shot it in the eye and it’s body crumbled to the floor. Just to be sure, he crushed the skull beneath his boots and scraped them off on the linoleum tile, before he turned to Bokuto with a grin.

Silently he raised his hand for a high-five and Bokuto returned it with a grin, lowering his bloodstained bat. “Let’s go look for those mini-pancakes,” he said and Kuroo rolled his eyes but followed quickly behind him, clicking on the safety of his gun before he tucked it into his pocket.

The shelves lining the aisles were half-barren covered in a mix of blood, dust and opened cans, and Kuroo shoved three of the unopened cans into backpack, picking up a forgotten bottle of water to unscrew and sniff, his nose wrinkling as he placed it on the shelf beside him. Bokuto was rifling through the bread section when Kuroo joined him, having collected several more cans and bottle or two of water, throwing everything that wasn’t what he wanted to collect in a pile behind him with a fierce scowl.

“Shit,” Bokuto said as he stood up, kicking away packets of mouldy and decomposing bread. “They don’t have mini-pancakes.”

Kuroo just gave him a shrug and pat him gently on the shoulder. “Better luck at the next place.”

Bokuto opened his mouth to reply before it promptly snapped shut and he raised his bat, staring past Kuroo’s shoulder with a flabbergasted look on his face. When Kuroo turned, he saw a man – very obviously human – staring at them both. He was lean and covered in dirt and blood and God knows what else, his black hair was ruffled and looked like it hadn’t been washed in months, and it probably hadn’t, his tears made tracks in the grime covering his face as he sniffed, hugging himself firmly across the chest.

“Please help us. Please.” The man begged them, his voice hoarse, before he turned and disappeared into a metal door.

Kuroo turned back to Bokuto. “I smell a trap,” he said. “This can only end badly.” 

Bokuto didn’t seem to be listening. “Holy shit, Tetsu,” He breathed, watching the space where the man had vacated. “He was beautiful.”

Kuroo frowned. “I mean, he wasn’t bad looking.” He said, though, to be perfectly honest, he hadn’t noticed through the dirt and grime on the man’s face.

“We need to help him,” Bokuto told him, his eyes fixed on the door the man had disappeared into. “It’s common curtesy…. Or some shit.” Kuroo suspected that it was more than just ‘common curtesy’.

“I’m sorry, are you wanting us to risk our lives for a boner?” Kuroo asked him, reaching out to shake his shoulders in a rather violent manner. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

Bokuto gripped Kuroo’s biceps and stared so hard into his eyes that Kuroo could swear that the pupils of Bokuto’s eyes were becoming black holes that would end up swallowing him. “Bro,” Bokuto began seriously. “When have I ever been joking? Why would I ever fuck with you.”

Kuroo drew in a deep breath and cast his eyes to the heavens. “I swear to God and all things holy if everything goes wrong I am kicking your ass.”

Bokuto nodded in agreement. “That’s fair.”

The two made their way over to the door and found a storage room, inside was the man who had greeted then tearfully and a rather beautiful woman who sat hunched over on a pile of cardboard boxes, her arms clutched to her chest as he whispered something to her. The man looked up, startled, at the sound of their shoes but his face softened once he realised who had entered the room and quickly dashed over, tugging them to the side.

“Thank you,” he breathed, and Bokuto pretended not to notice when the man’s fingers lingered on his wrist for just a second too long. “Thank you for coming.” 

Bokuto shook his head. “It’s… no problem.”

Kuroo gave Bokuto a side glance and pulled the strap of his backpack further up his arm. “What do you need help with?” He asked gently, and he immediately regretted it as the man’s bottom lip wobbled and his brow furrowed. “Shit man,” Kuroo breathed and, when he reached out to pat the man hesitantly on the shoulder, he jumped when the man attached himself to him in a bone crushing hug. “Oh. Dude.” 

Bokuto glared at him and Kuroo glared right back. 

“It’s… my sister.” The man said as he pulled back, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes. “She was… well… you know.”

Bokuto’s eyes darted to the girl as she looked up, her arm exposed to his prying eyes before she tugged it closer again and curled back over it. He swallowed hard and looked towards Kuroo, the image of her bloody and bruised arm etched into the back of his skull.

“Bitten,” Bokuto mouthed and Kuroo nodded in understanding.

“Okay.” Kuroo said softly. “What do you want us to do?” He asked.

The man bit hard on his bottom lip, folded his arms tight across his chest and looked between them and the girl. “I can’t do it… I won’t shoot her. I was wondering…”

Bokuto was shaking his head furiously before the man had even finished speaking. “No, no, no man.” He said. “There’s a big difference between shooting a zombie and shooting a person.” 

“But I don’t want her to turn into one of them!” The man protested, his eyes filling with tears as his whole body shook with the force of not crying. “I don’t want that for her. Please, I’m begging you, _please_ …”

Kuroo looked between the man and the woman before he sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I’ll check her out first, okay?” He said softly and the man’s face flooded with relief. “Then we’ll see about anything else.”

“Okay,” The man agreed. “Okay.”

Kuroo made his way carefully over to the woman, careful not to startle her as he sat beside her on a cardboard box and gave her a soft smile. “Hey,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

“I feel sick,” she told him quietly. “My arm burns.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, swallowing thickly as he caught sight of the bite mark on her arm. “That’ll happen.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching. “Are you here to shoot me?” She asked him and he almost choked.

“I don’t know if I need to shoot you yet,” Kuroo said quickly. “When did you get bit?” 

The woman shrugged, brushed hair back from her face with her uninjured arm. “A couple of hours ago.” 

Kuroo nodded. She didn’t have long left. “Okay.” 

“You know, I was the one who asked my brother to get someone who could shoot me,” She confessed and Kuroo listened, eyebrow raised. “He couldn’t do it. I don’t want to turn into a zombie. I don’t want to become a mindless corpse.” She continued, sniffing softly as tears trickled down her cheeks. “Please, shoot me. Get it over with.” 

Kuroo opened his mouth to say something and then paused, closed it. He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he agreed as he stood up, reaching out to pat her hand. “I will.”

The woman closed her eyes and Kuroo drew in a deep breath, reaching for his pocket and the cool metal that resided within it, only to frown when his fingertips met rough denim. The woman kicked him hard in the back of his knees and he tumbled to the floor, it was only when he was about to pull himself back up that she pressed the barrel of her gun against the back of his head. He looked to Bokuto and his heart sunk in his chest when he found his friend in the same situation as he was, only it was Kuroo’s gun that was pressed against his temple.

Kuroo’s eyes widened. _The hug. He must’ve pickpocketed the fucking gun_. 

The man smiled directly at Kuroo as he clicked the safety off. “Slide the keys to your car across the floor, I’d rather not have to shoot your friend.” He said and Kuroo glared furiously.

“What the fuck is this?” He growled, struggling as the woman pinned his arms behind his back. “I thought she was bitten.”

The woman reached out and wiped the bite across Kuroo’s cheek, ignoring how he screeched and thrashed beneath her grip until he stopped, staring blankly at the place the bite mark once was. “It’s costume make up,” she told him, a mischievous smile crossing her lips. “You’d have to be stupid to fall for it.” 

The mark was nothing but a dirty black, red and skin-coloured smudge. Oh, Kuroo did feel stupid. He felt stupid indeed.

“What the fuck is this?” Kuroo repeated, only this time his voice was a broken whisper.

“Can’t you tell?” The man asked, smiling. “This is a hold up. Now, pass your car keys before you or your friend here has to get hurt.” 

* * *

“I mean,” Bokuto called feebly from several feet behind him, afraid that if he ventured any closer that Kuroo would turn and try to scalp him. “It could be worse.” 

Kuroo grit his teeth and squared his shoulders before he whirled around, stopping dead in his tracks as he gestured wildly around him. “What could be worse than fucking this?” He seethed. “We just got fucking robbed, we’ve been walking for hours now and I have blisters that make me want to fucking die, and all because of your boner!”

Bokuto fell silent. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes cast down to his feet. “I didn’t think we’d end up robbed, okay? I just wanted to help him out, I’m sorry. Can you please stop yelling at me?” 

Kuroo looked at Bokuto, sighed and nodded, feeling the anger inside him deflate. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry too.” He replied. “I should’ve noticed when he grabbed my gun. Shouldn’t have been lured into that trap so easily.”

“It’s okay,” Bokuto told him, folding his arms across his chest as he sniffed loudly. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Kuroo opened his arms wide. “Bring it in, buddy?” He asked softly, and Bokuto’s eyes flitted to his, hesitant before he crossed the distance in a quick sprint and fell into Kuroo’s arms, clutching him close. “There we go.” He said, and he allowed his eyes to fall shut as he pulled Bokuto as close to him as he could possibly get.

“Dunno what I’d do without you,” Bokuto mumbled into his chest. “Now that the world has gone to shit.”

Kuroo smiled and carded his fingers through Bokuto’s hair, fondly remembering the times he used to spike it up. “Me neither, dude. Me neither.”

He thought it was weird to be hugging in the middle of a ruined street, smashed glass crunching under his boots whenever he took another step, with abandoned, rusting cars lining the pavements and running the width of the road; Kuroo guessed they set up a rudimentary roadblock to try and keep the zombies out. Not like that helped. Both hadn’t showered in months – after all, where would they find running water? – and smelt vaguely of dust, body odour and what cologne and body spray they found discarded under the shelves in pharmacies while they were picking up out-of-date ibuprofen and hay-fever relief tablets, but Kuroo clutched Bokuto tighter, felt the patches that they had sewn on to his denim jacket before the world fell to shit underneath his fingers, and buried his head into his neck. 

At times like these, it seemed Bokuto was the only thing right in the world, and he was most definitely the only one he could trust.

“Tetsu?” Bokuto asked, his voice muffled by Kuroo’s jacket. “Don’t go dying on me just yet, okay? 

Kuroo chuckled and rubbed Bokuto’s back. “I promise. I’ll stick around to annoy you for a long damn time, you don’t have a choice in that.”

Bokuto laughed back and pulled away, stared at Kuroo a moment before he grinned and ruffled up his hair. “Good.” He said before he turned and gestured to a 7-Eleven on the opposite side of the street. “Soda, my good sir?” He asked dramatically, bowing deeply as he offered Kuroo his arm.

“Why!” Kuroo replied, just as enthusiastically, a smile crawling across his lips. “I thought you’d never ask!”

The 7-Eleven seemed the worst for wear out of all the shops on the street. The green and orange paint had faded with dust and time, and there was a lighter patch on the shop-front where the ‘7’ had hung before it was either knocked down or stolen by some gang of heathens. The glass door had been completely smashed, and so Bokuto and Kuroo chose to just step through the metal frame where the glass had once been as they pulled their weapons from their backpacks.

To Bokuto’s distraught, the two who had mugged them had also elected to take Bokuto’s aluminium bat. Anyone who knew Bokuto knew that his baseball bat was his baby; it was still a sleek silver, and it had six reinforced aluminium spikes around the top and one spike at the very end of the bat, made specifically to be light enough to be pulled from a zombie’s skull without getting stuck. A very dangerous, deadly baby. Kuroo let Bokuto cry on him for a bit before he resigned himself to bitter angriness and strode ahead of him.

Instead of his beloved bat Bokuto had a hockey stick, and instead of Kuroo’s trusty gun he had a crowbar.

Bokuto dragged his feet loudly through the glass shattered on the floor and dragged the hockey stick against a row of empty shelves, and Kuroo took a fighting stance, raising his crowbar high above his head. They waited for a minute, the silence a deafening roar in their ears and their shoulders tensed in apprehension, before they relaxed slightly and began to peruse the aisles for what they were looking for.

Bokuto grinned and Kuroo and tossed him a can of soda, stuffing his own in his backpack as Kuroo whirled around and tossed Bokuto a packet of chewing gum in return.

Bokuto wiggled his eyebrows and popped a piece of gum into his mouth. “Why’d’ya pass me this, huh? Are you trying to tell me something?” He asked. “Asking me to make out with you?”

“No,” Kuroo replied with a feline grin. “I’m trying to tell you that your breath stinks.”

Bokuto cackled and threw the packet back to Kuroo. “So does yours. Hypocrite.”

“Au De Apocalypse, mon frère!” Kuroo replied, taking two pieces of chewing gum before he tossed the packet back. He couldn’t help but feel they were playing hot potatoes with it. “I haven’t showered in at least six months. Not since we broke into the leisure centre to use the swimming pool showers.”

Bokuto nodded, poking his head between the shelves. “It was honestly the cleanest place I’ve seen since the world and humanity decided to collectively go fuck itself.”

“Makes me miss the smell of cleaning supplies.” Kuroo remarked nostalgically, meeting Bokuto’s eye for a minute before they both dissolved into peals of hearty laughter. “I miss that swimming pool. Killing all the zombies in there was like a carnival game.” 

“Yeah,” Bokuto agreed. “Like shooting ducks.”

Kuroo met his eyes and narrowed his own. “Excuse me, Bokuto Koutarou, was that a fucking pun?” He asked in amusement, allowing a smile to cross his lips. “Did you just make a pun in the middle of the fucking apocalypse?”

“Like you wouldn’t,” Bokuto replied with an amused roll of his eyes. 

“But I wouldn’t.”

This time it was Bokuto’s turn to narrow his eyes. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Kuroo laughed and moved around the aisle to wrap Bokuto in a bone-crushing hug. “Yeah, you’re right.” He said and Bokuto rolled his eyes. “Now, where to next?” he asked, gesturing out of the door. “To the car dealership or to the great wide yonder?” 

“Car dealership.” Bokuto said, pointing towards it. “I want a Cadillac.” 

Kuroo rolled his eyes, leading Bokuto out of the 7-Eleven and across the street to the car dealership. “I’m afraid we don’t have Cadillacs, but we do have… a Toyota Hillux.” He said, gesturing to a black pick up. “And several fucked-up Porsche’s, and other shitty non-four-wheel-drive cars.”

Bokuto grimaced and booed quietly, giving Kuroo a thumbs-down. “Fuck those cars!” He grinned. 

“That’s not a wise idea, my friend,” Kuroo said as he raised his crowbar over his shoulder. “You’ll get your dick trapped in the exhaust pipe or petrol tanks.” He continued, tossing the crowbar between his hands. “Or, worst case scenario; the car is a Transformer and it rips your dick off.” 

“Ouch,” Bokuto frowned, his brows creased as Kuroo grinned at him. “I can never look at Optimus Prime the same again.”

Kuroo smirked at Bokuto before looking at the car dealership. “Let’s see if any of these will wake up, what’d’ya say, Kou?” Kuroo asked and Bokuto returned his smirk, pulling his hockey stick from his backpack.

“Bumblebee better have some fucking insurance,” Bokuto said before he marched forward and slammed the stick through the windshield of the nearest car.

The glass shattered on impact, scattering onto the dash and the concrete beneath his feet, and as his hockey stick made impact with the dash there was an ear-piercing wail of the car alarm. All it took was a few more smacks on the dash for it to stutter into a pathetic silence, but the alarm had done its job as six zombies were slowly shambling from the depths of the car dealership and towards where they had heard the car alarm noise.  
Their jaws clicked and they moaned loudly as Kuroo rolled his shoulders, grinned and ran straight for the nearest zombie, sticking his crowbar firmly into its eye socket. It dropped like a fly and the other zombies screeched, all charging for Kuroo, until Bokuto leapt on two from the hood of the car, shoving his boot into one of their skulls as he smashed the other’s head in with the curve of his hockey stick.

Kuroo pulled his crowbar from the zombie’s head and turned on the three advancing towards him, and his grin only stretched as he cracked his neck and knuckles, twirling the crowbar between his fingers.

“Hello, sir,” Kuroo said to the zombie dressed in a crisp black suit and stained, bloody white shirt, as it screeched at him, it’s hands scratching up the fabric of his jacket. “I’d like to issue a complaint about your services; please hear me out.” He finished before he slammed the curved end of the crowbar into the forehead of the zombie and pushed it upwards and out. The zombie crumpled to the ground at his feet. 

The last two zombies made for Bokuto, and Kuroo’s heart leapt into his throat when the fastest charged for Bokuto’s shoulder, growling low and feral as its teeth bit into the hard denim of Bokuto’s jacket. Bokuto, on the other hand, just sighed, grabbed the zombie by its thinning hair and pulled it up to his face.

“Jesus,” Bokuto said with an exasperated sigh. “You’re quite the looker, aren’t you?”

The zombie screeched, and Bokuto got a good look into its rotting jaw, and at the skin and flesh peeling off from its skull. Its hands were still closed around Bokuto’s arms, but Bokuto quickly broke them and pulled them off him, tossing them away. It almost seemed offended at his comment.

“Don’t worry.” He said, almost comfortingly. “Doesn’t matter if you’re good looking where you’re going.”

Then he gripped the zombie firmly by the hair and slammed its head into the hood of the car behind him, letting go and allowing the body to crumple to the ground when the zombie went still before he turned quickly and shoved his hockey stick into the eye of the last zombie, pushing it into the floor before he steadied himself with a boot on the zombie’s chest and pulled the hockey stick from its head.

Kuroo whistled approvingly and clapped after hooking his crowbar into his belt loop. “Impressive, Kou.” He said. “You were badass.”

Bokuto turned to him with a grin. “I’m always badass.” He said as he tucked his hockey stick into his backpack after wiping it clean on the zombie’s clothes. “Let’s pick a car, shall we?”

Immediately, Kuroo made a beeline for the black pick up, allowing his hands to wander up the shiny, smooth, and somewhat worm surfaces. “This one!” He said enthusiastically. “I want this one.”

“It doesn’t have a price on the windscreen.” Bokuto pointed out, gesturing to it, and Kuroo immediately froze, taking several steps back. They exchanged a loot and a small smile. “Ohoho, off-property car.” He said.

“Off-property car,” Kuroo repeated in agreement as he readied his crowbar. “Spin the wheel, what do you think is inside?” He asked, turning to Bokuto as he reached for the door handle.

A grin stretched across Bokuto’s face as he pointed directly at it. “Zombie baby!” Bokuto guessed. “I’ve not seen one of them before.”

Kuroo grimaced. “I have,” he said. “It’s fucking creepy.”

“What’s your guess?” Bokuto asked and Kuroo thought for a moment.

“Like, fifty clown zombies.” Kuroo said and Bokuto grimaced and shivered, looking severely shaken. “It’ll be like the circus when I open the door, they’ll all come pouring out and we’ll be suffocated in a tsunami of polka dots, red wigs and rotting flesh.”

Bokuto shook his head at the thought. “Don’t remind me.” Bokuto said. “I stumbled across a circus before I found you. Not only did I find a zombie clown, but also a zombie mime and a zombie trapeze artist.”

“If the zombie mime made noise you should get a full-refund,” Kuroo said. “Otherwise it’s false advertising.”

Bokuto blinked at him. “I almost got my head bit off by zombies who could do trapeze, and you’re worried about the fucking mine?” He asked Kuroo, his voice high and exasperated. 

“You’re fine.” Kuroo replied with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Bokuto said with a pointed look. “ _Now_.” 

Kuroo turned back to the car. “I’m opening the car now.” He said, ignoring Bokuto’s cry of protest as he threw open the door and leapt away comically, ducking behind Bokuto, only to find—

“Nothing.” Bokuto pointed out with a pout. “Boo. That’s boring.”

Kuroo opened his mouth to reply before something caught his eyes and he stopped, stalking towards the car in search of the corner of the thing he spotted. Bokuto followed behind him curious, and he couldn’t help but let out a cry of victory as he pulled a black duffel bag from the backseat and deposited on the driver’s seat. He tore open the zip faster than a kid unwrapping his presents on Christmas Day and his eyes practically glittered. 

“Tetsu,” Bokuto whispered in awe. 

“Kou.” Kuroo replied.

“What the fuck?!” They cried simultaneously, for in the nest of the duffel bag was at least ten firearms and a shiny new aluminium baseball bat. 

Bokuto lunged for the baseball bat and Kuroo allowed him to take it, tactfully ignoring the way Bokuto clutched it to his chest and kissed the shiny metal, while he rummaged through the firearms and the piles of bullets and shotgun shells in boxes surrounding them. Kuroo picked up a silver handgun, loading it up with a round of bullets before he clicked the clip shut. Grinning as he ran his fingers over the sleek curves and carefully clicked the safety off and on again. He chuckled as he turned to Bokuto. 

“Oh,” Kuroo said lowly as Bokuto looked up at him. “This is just too lucky.”

Bokuto nodded in agreement. “We’re never lucky.”

“We’re, like, the least lucky people on earth.” Kuroo agreed, turning to the bag of weapons. “Are we hallucinating, Kou? Because I feel like we might be hallucinating.” He said, gesturing to the truck. “Who leaves all these weapons and this perfectly working car?”

Bokuto discarded his hockey stick and tucked his baseball bat into his backpack before he walked over to the backseat doors and threw one of them open. “Let’s have a look and see.” He said, cracking his knuckles before he dove in. Kuroo watched curiously from his place at the driver’s door.

Bokuto was rummaging round in the back, making odd comments until he peered into the trunk and screeched loudly, scrambling from the car, hitting his head off of the concrete in his hurry to get away. “Zombie baby!” He said as he dashed past Kuroo. “I was fucking right; it was a fucking zombie baby!”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, took a firm grip of the handgun and moved around to the back of the car.

 _Here we go again_ , Kuroo thought before he steeled himself and threw open the door of the trunk. _Try not to kill yourself, Tetsu_.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [ cherry-kirsch ](cherry-kirsch.tumblr.com) || twitter: [ cherriwrites ](https://twitter.com/cherriwrites)


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